


One Soul, Damned.

by LadyRoslineDrake



Category: Oblivion - Fandom, Skryim
Genre: Elder Scrolls - Freeform, Fate of the World, Skyrim - Freeform, oblivion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7031482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRoslineDrake/pseuds/LadyRoslineDrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Great Adventurer has died by unknown means, but come his death each of the Seventeen Deadric Princes's have discovered he's played him all the fools-stealing their gifts and trinkets for his own gain. Now each Prince has sent their champions to collect his soul, because whoever finally collects it, will have a great advantage over the others.<br/>Will he be claimed? Or will outside forces sweep them out from under our villains feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Quest Begins!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Another Bethesda story I know-but it's something that is pretty open world with good structured lore I can work with :) Plus I've got some pretty amazing idea's in mind right now-and it'll give me something to do when I'm stuck on Perspective is Everything.  
> As always-feel free to critique!

_Splash._

           The gelid running streams of Whiterun always were refreshing after a long session of training; especially on a sunny day like this. The Harbinger kneeled, bringing her water skin to the stream before turning to Aela who approached with Vilkas and one of the newer recruits-”We’re heading out, did you want to come with us?”

            The Breton shook her head, blowing a frizzy bit of cherry brown hair out of her face before motioning to the other recruits flopped out on the cobble stone and under the shade, breathless and teasing one another.

            “Ah I see, got to whip the whelps into shape?” The Huntress chuckled, “They still underestimate-” The Harbinger waved her hand dismissively, silently denying the claim before reaching to her belt were her tablet and charcoal hung and scribbled across it’s surface.

            _“No, the opposite Aela, they overestimate me.”_

_“They tip toe, preparing themselves to get walloped only to be tripped up by their fears.”_

“Humble as always Harbinger.” The two laughed, while the new recruit huffed a bit with frustration, face contorted with unspoken words to match.

            “Alright Magik, we will be back by nightfall-show them how to drink!” Aela said with a slight raise of a fist, Vilkas rolling his eyes as the two began to turn away. The recruit dithered for just a moment, before scrambling after the two veterans.

Magik wondered why he had hesitated, what his words would be when a novel scent reached her nose-why the smell of freshly spilled stags blood flowed from the Underforge-which was odd, no one had been in there for a few days and only the Inner Circle had the key to it these days… 

She drifted to the doorway, most definitely something had freshly been slain within, closing her hand into a fist to contain the spell that wanted to leap forth with her anxiousness.

As she unlocked the door, and stepped within the cave, she came face to face with a white stags corpse, bleeding into the alter-filling the bowl steadily. The Harbinger closed the door, and locked it behind her, turning once more to find herself in a moonlit forest.

“ _Champion.”_

_“I have a task for you.”_

Magik bowed slightly to no one, and waited for Lord of the Hunt to give her his orders.

 

“ ** _Listener! Listener!_** ”

An angry hiss escaped the Nord woman, gripping the mace that rested beside her bed and flung it to the doorway. A crashing sound made her sit up, pulling the sheets up around her to see if the jester was still alive. Fortunately, though, she just buried the spiked mace of Molag Bal into the bedroom door and not into his head.

“Ho-ho! You're aim improves with each passing moment Listener!” Cicero laughs, and begins to babble about the Night Mother, and other seemingly uninteresting information; well, only uninteresting because she had just woke and had not fed for the evening.

“...Listener…?...Is your mace supposed to glow...that color…?” Came a rather sane sounding, inquisitory question from the Keeper.

The Nord turned, the one blue eye focused intensely onto the weapon, which now pulsed a hellish red. It was abnormal, pulling the last of her clothing on, “No.” As she approached, the vision of her right, milky white eye was blinded by the amount of soul energy radiating off the Mace of Molag Bal.

“Vahriin-are you alright?” Nazir called from the other side of the door, “I'm fine.” Vahriin answered and finished with a command, “Don't open the door.

“Cicero, get back.”

Vahriin white eye gain a ring of copper fire where her iris was supposed to be, and she grasped the mace to remove it-her body felt ablaze with pain but all her muscles ceased-so she could not let go.

The Assassin was surrounded by frosty air, biting into her skin like the little imps the hopped around the doorway she was frozen too-the ruins of the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary laid bare to the burning sky and her boots sunk into sludge.

However, she did feel the need to scream at the sight, or at the sensations of pain, only to clamp her jaw even more firmly closed-listening to it creak and try to break in protest.

Dark laughter ripped the cold air around her, and the shadow of Molag Bal loomed over her. 

“ _One day, I shall break you-my Champion_.”

Vahriin’s muscles numbed and she lowered her gaze downward; though not submission-defiance as she replied.

“What do you desire, Master?”

**“ _How good of you to ask_** _._ ”

 

“You alright girl?” Byrnjolf asked, head tilted at the bosmer half hanging off her bed. “Sybil?”

 Ruffling her black hair as she sat up, her gold eyes heavy lidded; “What is it Byrn…did something happen?” He nodded, the somewhat cheerful disposition sombered, “Nocturnal wants the two of us to come to the Hall...Karliah said it was urgent.”

“Well, that can't be good.” Sybil exhaled, pulling her trousers up onto her spindly legs and fixed her tunic so it would sit in her armor properly. “Let's get going then.” By the time they made it to the Nightingale Hall, the two moons was rising high in the sky, the two agents of Nocturnal entered the cavern; greeted by the third Nightingale; Karliah. “Good, you both are here. We shouldn't keep her waiting any longer.”

 “What's wrong, last I saw you like this-Mercer had run off with the Skeleton Key...oh please tell me you didn't lose that again.”

 “This isn't the time to jest, Sybil. Nocturnal seems rather upset about something-and last thing we need Sister is her wrath.”

“Optimistic as usual Karliah.” Sybil snorted at her friend, Byrnjolf nudged her a bit hard as they stepped into the three moons chamber, each taking their places; kneeling to the Mistress of Shadows and the all mighty Patron of Thieves. The Bosmer did her best not to roll her eyes as she thought this, she'd never believed in such things-still even now-she reckoned some powerful witch was all Nocturnal was. The deep purple light didn't appear as per status quo, when ravens began flooding the chamber and the image of the woman herself appeared. The elf could admit, her infuriated face was a tad bit on the unnerving side-and she could feel the rage spoken through her bones. “ _You're late._ ”

 “I apologize, Lady Nocturnal. Karliah replied, kneeling with her arms raised in prayer. “What is your will?”

 The woman’s eyes took its time boring holes into each of them, before speaking. “

“ _I have been betrayed. Another of the Nightingale has perished. And I have discovered-he served as Champion to the other Princes of Oblivion_ …”

 “And what are we supposed to do about it? If he is dead...why haven't you-” Sybil started, and the swarm of black birds nearly knocked into water below.

                     “ _Because, the other sixteen say they have a claim on his soul over the other! You need to steal it before the other Champions.”_

“Oh...you're reasoning is astounding…” The Thief squeaked finally from her back, while Karliah began to smooth over the daedric prince’s anger at the sarcastic little shit she was.

The mission as given by Nocturnal, was one of the three of them was supposed to go collect this damn Khajiit who had apparently serviced each one of the damn demon lords. and bring his soul to the Twilight Sepulcher for Nocturnal to claim. Naturally though, Sybil was put in charge of this task, Byrnjolf was to run the Guild and Karliah to protect the hall.

Tending to the cuts and bruises from the Witch's bloody birds, she stared at the artifact given to catch this soul-a cloak made of raven feathers that dripped tar-like shadows as it laid idle.

 Honestly, how is one supposed to catch a runaway soul? Nocturnal gave her the cloak-but how was she supposed to get it on the damn thing?


	2. Flight and Fight!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three main protagonists begin their journeys!

Magik hadn't done any real adventuring since she was a child, lost and starving through the wilds-but it didn't mean she wasn't incapable. The Harbinger packed a few more potions than she expected-it would make her bag heavier; not by much thankfully for someone like her. “Habringer, are you sure you should go alone?” Farkas asked, Vilkas and Aela nodded, wondering the same thing. Magik nodded, not bothering to take the few seconds to write the answer. 

“Why?”

Magik hated when they wanted specific answers, it took forever to write, and often more than one page(which was all she had for the tablet of stone, designed to be used over and over.) She sighed, and picked it up, writing only one word. 

_ Hircine. _

The three other inner circle warriors paused, “He’s the reason you’re leaving?” Vilkas’s temper, rarely seen, began to rear it’s ugly head. Between him and his brother, Farkas, he is usually more tempered till any discussion of the Wolf’s Blood came up. He was the last member of the Circle to believe that lycanthropy was a curse of any kind. 

Aela looked at her shield brother, “Vilkas,calm yourself.” Aela, was the one with the greatest appreciation to Hircine, she’d even sought out the daedric prince’s totems to show her favor. “We have no right to demand a reason from her, after all she has done.” 

“But you are!” He tried to argue, “I'm not-” The squabbling grated on her already frayed nerves, but she couldn't yell, couldn't even growl in frustration-being mute some time was more upsetting than what she wanted to be upset about. 

Farkas placed a hand on her shoulder, and motioned with his head to go; “It's alright Habringer-we’ll keep Jorrvaskr safe while you're away.” Pulling her pack on, she bowed slightly before slipping out-she trusted the three of them immensely. She almost expected that all of Whiterun could burn down, but the Companion’s home would be perfectly fine. 

Magik made her way out of the city, looking to the sky and trying to remember the Prince’s words given to her to about the soul. “ _ It is an easily distracted creature, with fierce claws but feeble mind; it shouldn't take you long to find it. Chasing butterflies or coins _ .” 

**_Riften maybe?_ **

_ “He was a thief, Nocturnal said.”  _ Sybil peeked above at the market of the canal below, “ _ So he's gotta be around here. _ ” 

The Bosmer shook her head, keeping the cloak folded around her arm, ready to throw at the target if she should come across it. Though it didn't seem likely he'd be so close to one of the Princes domains if he knew he was in trouble. Then again from what she gathered from Nocturnal’s drilling, fortune favors the bold and sometimes the foolish, certainly young thieves did well and there was this Pirate with a ship they called  **_Enterprise_ ** . He qualified at least two of the four...

Oddly enough, Sybil was sure it was a ghost ship these days-plaguing the shores of Tamriel. 

“Mornin’ Sybil, care for some lovely baubles for your pretty wife?” Sybil’s cheeks grew hot at the argonian merchant words; “She's not my wife!” The Wood Elf stammered, looking sheepishly at her small hands. “...Not yet anyway…” 

He laughed, “For true, you will have her if you persevere! And bring her lots of pretty gems and flattery.” 

“No...not her...Ah! Madesi!” Sybil bounced up to the stalls edge, “Do you remember a Khajiit-calico lookin’ fur and even lighter fingers than a ghost? He supposedly was here a lot.” The Lizardman tilted his head a little, “I don't think I have, but I did find a few gems fallen not far from my stall, it was quite odd though. I swore I had them under the counter.” 

That was odd indeed, “When?” The Argonian tapped a talon to his chin, “Yesterday I believe, I was standing right here even. I looked down and there they were as if I dumped the box they rested in…” 

“If this is to forward of me Madesi, but could I look at them?” 

The Argornian’s eyes narrowed a little, “Only if you keep your fingers to yourself.” He lifted him, to let her admire them; oh they are were such beautiful beauties-but something about them felt off. 

__ _ Why did they glow?  _

“Those are beautiful...How much do they fetch?” Sybil asked, gold eyes wide with awe. “Well…” And every price made her flinch a little more each time; he was charging nearly two-hundred-fifty for the garnet-more than they were normally worth. If the soul was an impulsive one, just one of these would be a good enough lure him. Searching her pockets for the coin to possibly buy one of these, she looked defeated-placing her hand longingly over the case. “Not today I suppose...Maybe another…” 

“Of course Sybil! I haven’t got a buyer for them yet-so maybe you can get them another day.” 

The Nightingale waved her goodbye, sauntering away to continue the search through Riften-finding several other loose objects that had a faint glimmer to them.

**_Just like the Ruby she borrowed from Madesi._ **

Vahriin spoke to the Night Mother before she left the Dawnstar Sanctuary, discussing locations the target could possibly be, for hours almost. If he had angered each and every Deadric Prince, even Jygglag-Prince of Order; who rarely showed his face to the Mortal Plane ever-than it was a serious target. 

She hadn't had a thrill in a great while, since her days as just an assassin-running through the shadows and serving Lord Harkon at the castle; so after Molag Bal returned her to Nirn, she gleefully got her equipment prepared for the hunt. 

“You sure this is a good idea?” Babette asked, the little vampire circled her as she took her bow off the wall along with her quiver. “It’s what I  _ must  _ do.” Vahriin answered, not really, if she truly didn’t feel like doing it-she would have told her Master to have one of his other lackeys do it. 

_ But it was a sign he trusted her above the rest.  _

“But what happens if you fail Vahriin? The Brotherhood needs you.” She whispered, the Nord turned to the  **_older_ ** girl and patted. “It will be fine, Babette, the Night Mother will keep you all safe.” Nazir brought her arrows just then, “Lady Serena just left these a few days ago, be sparing, you only have twenty…” 

As the Redguard dropped them into her quiver, the Listener just smiled, fang showing a little. “I will return, I can trust the both of you to keep the Brotherhood from combusting again?” The two nervously laughed, “That’s not funny.”

“Considering so many reasons, I find it hilarious.”

Vahriin than watched their faces twist a bit into horror, even little Babette as she picked up Molag’s tool to catch this wandering soul-a chain, spiked and pulsing for a moment. But as if like smoke, it disappeared to a mark on her armor. 

_ “Ha, Festus would probably have a story for this wouldn’t he?” _ __   
  


Vahriin took a breath of Dawnstar’s frigid air, and gazed up at the Nightcaller Temple that hung above the city-Vaermina’s Shrine was inside-along with whomever had become her Champion. She had heard that a Priest of Mara had tried to purify it of the Deadric influence...but no one has seen him since and the city is still plagued with nightmares. 

Thankfully, the Sanctuary was free of the influence or she would have destroyed the Temple a long time ago. Vahriin half whistled, staring up at it still even as Shadowmere trotted up beside her. “...This is going to be a long and rather aggravating task, isn’t it?” She looked to the horse, staring into the blood red eye, to which he snorted and pawed the ground. “Yes, I thought so.” 

  
She began her ride along the sea shore, heading in the direction of the capitol; unbothered by the cold and left unfretted by the local wildlife-as Shadowmere and her proved through previous rides that her horse would stomp and eat anything as surely as the rider. Vahriin liked the frozen ocean breeze as it tried tangling up her blond hair, pausing to take in the beauty of-

**_CRACKLE!_ **

The lightning bolt just missed her, Shadowmere barely giving a snort and the both of them looked to the castor. 

A Dark Elf, wielding an axe alongside his staff-a odd looking at that. He worth Vaermina’s robes; and looked rather unassuming-but it didn't stop her from drawing her mace, and turning her horse towards him. 

“Molag Bal’s Champion? Here? Is the so-” 

“Not that I would answer you either way, so stop wasting my time.” Vahriin spoke coolly, “Let's get this over this.” 

The Dark Elf vanished, or at least he thought so-the down side was her “blinded” eye wasn't blind-it just didn't see as normal people did. Vaermina's Champion was wreathed with a purple color that extended from the staff-the Deadric staff; what she assumed was the infamous Staff of Corruption. 

He was charging a spell, likely a big one for him to attempt to conceal himself right off the bat. 

Vahriin gently kicked Shadowmere-sending him charging forewords at the castor, who didn't seem to immediately see her...at least she thought.

She was a little surprised that he was able to switch spells so quickly, he knocked her off with a telekinesis spell, Shadowmere kept running on- _ damn horse _ . 

Vahriin rolled to escape another spell; fire this time-hissing as it drew closer than she liked. The Nord’s pearly white fangs sharpened as she started closing in on the opposing Champion. 

He didn't looked equipped for melee-but she didn't want to take the chance; one hand of his was flinging ice, trying to slow her down while his staff prepared a bigger spell. 

Certainly, the look of horror was the most beautiful thing, something she had come to enjoy when she transformed so effortlessly into her vampire form. It was a millisecond of distraction that caused his attack to falter and the charging spell to fizzle before it could be cast. Vahriin let go of her mace, lunging at him with not even the fullest speed she could muster.

She lifted him off his feet by the throat, the clawed hand breaking the wrist holding his staff. He shrieked in pain, “Mercy! I yield!” He strangled; squirming in her grasp. 

“What makes you think I'd allow competition to survive?” She snarled through her teeth, grinning to show them all off; amused by his dark eyes as they bugged out in fear. “If you had not approached me with malicious intent...I might have let you live….”

“ **_But alas-fool, you shot first_ ** .” 


End file.
